


A Dwarrow and His Woman

by i_luv_obiwan91



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captives, Dol Guldur, F/M, OFC sister of somebody, Prisoners, Thorin needs a woman, and she is the sister of somebody... what else is new, so I gave him a woman, that is my thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_luv_obiwan91/pseuds/i_luv_obiwan91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Separated from his Company, Thorin is captured by the dark servants of the Necromancer and brought to Dol Guldur. There he meets another thrall that soon proves herself to be someone he's willing to protect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

When he was thrown into the cell, her curiosity had been piqued by his curses and bold defiance toward their captors, even as they walked away into the darkness. The others had not been so strong when they came. Perhaps it is why they did not survive long. This new thrall in the cage with her was almost a wild animal in the shadows, his long hair curled and blown over his face and shoulders from being roughly handled. He even breathed like a predator, panting with exertion but strong and ready to attack. Like her, he was bound both at the ankles and wrists behind his back, lying prone on his side and now unmoving save for the heaving of his angry breath. Steaming fog poured from his nostrils and through his teeth with heavy breath in the chill of the night.

Hesitating, for he indeed gave the unspoken warning of danger that any such creature gave off when held in a trap, she made her slow way toward him on the ground. Making sufficient noise to be heard, her crawling caused the new captive to turn fiercely to her and question with shining grey eyes that reflected fire in the dark. “Who’s there?” A deep voice commanded of her, immediately taking dominance.

Trembling for many reasons, the young creature he addressed quietly answered. “I am a slave, my lord. A fellow captive to you, here.” Fiery eyes took her in what little they could through shadows and almost gave her a semblance of warmth with their intensity. She was indeed bound as harshly as he was, and seemed to have been for some time due to such marks as he could discern to be bruises and lashings in the dimness.

Softening a little, but not completely trusting, the man spoke again. “And who _are_ you? How be it you came here?”

Warily, his fellow inmate glanced around fervently before dragging herself closer to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “I am called _Adûnaphel_ , my lord, a woman—“ He could sense she was about to say something further before she halted herself, continuing in a different way. “I see you now, you are a _dwarrow_ , and rightly do I call you ‘lord,’ yes?” He nodded, but kept his peace, awaiting the latter part of her answer to his questions, watching her face with interest as it changed from a fragile child to a damaged princess of old in demeanor. “I have friends among the elves in Greenwood the Great…”

“Greenwood? You mean _Mirkwood_?” He clarified and she paused, an inward look in her gaze as she smiled wearily.

“Is that what they call it now?” The woman half murmured to herself, sadness tainting her whispered voice. “Yes, I suppose so… I was traveling to meet them, to see my companions again, but I was taken in ambush and dealt such a blow that took me some time to truly recover from. I have been here many, _many_ years…” Her eyes moved slowly up to where the moon barely shone down upon them through cloud and haze, as if it were the only thing that could sympathize with her plight.

“You’ve already named me as dwarf-lord, and so I am. I am called Thorin Oakenshield, Adûnaphel. I have been separated from my comrades by coming off the Old Dwarf Road on our journey through Mirkwood. Where are we now?” He asked in true ignorance for he had been disoriented through wood, spider, and night as black as coal for days.

Adûnaphel’s eyes met his once more, and the power he had witnessed in them only moments ago now seemed drained. “I’m afraid you find yourself upon _Amon Lanc_ , Thorin.When the bite of cold ebbs more softly—for we are always removed out of doors when the weather is harsh—we shall be taken back into the fortress of Dol Guldur for what further tortures the _Dark One_ has planned.” All strength in her voice evaporated and what was left whispered hoarsely to him, as if begging him for an ounce of moisture to quell the burn she felt in her throat. She trembled more now and curled up into her rags of clothing for warmth against the gentle gusts of wind and the harsh reality of her predicament.

It was not even as long as she had spoken and hoped, that their return to the fortress would wait until a thaw, for as dawn arrived Thorin was hauled alongside Adûnaphel into the dungeons that the maiden had too oft been familiar. The dwarf did his best to thrash and kick through his restraints, though it did little good other than to anger the orcish jailors. The woman he’d just met now withdrew entirely into herself and would not answer anymore when he tried to speak with her. Soon enough, he understood why.


	2. Chapter Two

It must have been at least a month now, that Thorin had been trapped here, a witness to more torture—both of himself and of others—than he would wish upon anyone. Keeping his wits, however, he had begun to realize that Adûnaphel, this alternately strong and fierce, then withdrawn and weakened young woman, seemed to be the true prize of Dol Guldur’s captives. She knew something, had something within her, that the Dark One desired, and his servants tormented both her and other thralls before her eyes in attempts to pull whatever she kept out from firm lips. It was at these moments that Thorin saw both sides of what this woman truly was: nobility, courage, and defiance born of a warrioress shone in the set of her jaw and the light in her eyes that made the slighter of their guards shy away in fear even while she bore the scathing lashes; then the frailty of anguished sobs as another slave would be brought within sight and punished, broken for her in return for her compliance, which never came.

The dwarf lord could not but give her his greatest respect for such righteous conduct amidst the greatest of suffering. Even within such an amount of time as had been, Thorin had out-lived at least two-score poor souls brought here to be beaten and hounded. His endurance had not come without price, though, and his body bore hundreds of marks from scourges, burns, and beatings. Muscle he yet retained, but what tattered clothing he still wore—once perfectly tailored—now hung loose over his starved physique, evidence of such foul water and rotted breads and meats as they were given to sustain but a little life and no spirit.

During their infrequent respites, Adûnaphel finally allowed Thorin to speak with her, usually about everything but their captivity, anything that could give them hope within the dark confines they found themselves. The dwarf discovered what she had at first concealed from him, that she held blood of both the Númenor and Eldar, giving her long life and such foresight as her captors sought to use in their evil works. It was such majestic strength in her heritage that Thorin had recognized at intervals from the very beginning. He told her also of his kin, and eventually of his quest among a number of his fellow dwarves, an _Istari_ , and a _Halfling_ to travel to the Lonely Mountain and reclaim his ancestors’ domain. It was through such conversations that a bond of trust was woven between them, giving each hope and strength to draw on from the other when their own might wane.

“Have you a wife awaiting your return, Thorin?” Adûnaphel asked quietly of him one night as they sought rest, both facing each other while leaning uncomfortably on the iron bars erected between them.

He lifted his gaze to her face, seeing that she would not meet his eye, and smiled sadly before shaking his head and murmuring. “I have no wife.” She gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, keeping silent with her eyes downcast, studying the faded embroidery on his garment. “And what of you? What handsome knight has given you his heart and plans to rescue you in the morning?” It lightened his heart to see her smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes as she sighed.

“There is no such knight. And I have never been given any man’s heart, master dwarf.”

“Are you so certain?” His gentle response at last drew her vibrant eyes upward and he held them locked with his own, conveying his meaning through such a look. Thorin longed for the release of his painfully bound hands, if only to touch the fair face of this woman gazing at him so fervently, and to sooth the tears that began to form in the ocean of her eyes.

“It is foolish to give your heart to one such as I…” Already he could see how she grieved within herself at what might happen.

“Then name it folly, but it is already given.” Thorin shifted closer until their faces were near. “ _Adûnaphel_ …”

His deep voice resonated through the woman and lent strength to her weary bones, urging her to draw nearer until between the bars their brows touched, breathing the same air in a sphere of peace. With a gentle and deliberate shift, Thorin tilted his face and touched her lips calmly, encouraging her as Adûnaphel pressed closer and allowed him this seeking kiss. The woman longed to touch his beard, such a foreign thing she saw but rarely, and fold into his embrace, but the warmth of his skin and then the heat of his mouth made her forget it enough to focus on the pleasure he was giving her now.

Adûnaphel kissed him back with equal attention, inhaling the musk of his masculine scent mixed with the sharpness of blood that had dried upon his beard. They parted amidst smaller kisses and touches of brows, cheeks, and noses. Foreboding thoughts finally infiltrated the aura of calm they had shared and his new lover shook her head slightly as they leaned once more against each other. “Thorin, if anything happens to you… I am afraid of what grief and guilt will consume me.”

“If anything happens to me, it will be in the process of freeing you from this place. You will run, and you will find your kinsmen… you shall be saved.” His words were solid in his conviction and served to sooth some of the fears he could sense eating away at her mind. “We will escape this place, _uzlam sanzhin_ [ _perfect lady of the west_ ]. Do you trust me?”

His heart could not pound twice in his chest before he heard her earnest whisper. “Yes.”

 

When next the _Necromancer’s_ foul servants came to retrieve them, it was with a heightened ferocity that they dragged and pulled the two apart from each other out of their cells. Some agitated amusement seemed to be found as their captors laughed and shoved and cursed the two crudely, in both their own tongue and in Westron. “The Dark One will be happy for this… Little wretches are lovers, now we find, hmm? … She’s sure to give him all what’s needed…” The fragments of conversation gave Adûnaphel an idea of what was in store. They had leverage over her now, better than the strangers she’d seen broken and bloodied before. Now they thought she would give the evil one all that she had in exchange for Thorin’s life, for her beloved.

His glance thrown her way sent the message to ‘be strong’ with a set jaw and slight nod. In moments the dwarf was strung from his wrists just high enough so that feet could not touch the ground, stretching his length so that every rib could be counted above the hollow at his abdomen.

A dark servant—not orc, but not human—approached Adûnaphel enshrouded with black cloak and hood as he always was, as if to mask what deformities one could still easily surmise and even hear in his gravel voice. The figure laughed in a lewd manner as he glanced between the dwarf and woman, perceiving what the lesser servants of his master had informed him. Some attachment had clearly been formed. “Thou hast continued to deny such answers as my Master commands from thee, little Númenorian, and it has been seen that your will is strong even through affliction.” It stepped around her like predator circling wounded prey and continued to drone. “It would seem, however, that the affliction of _others_ bears much more weight upon thine tender soul.” Fear pricked the woman’s countenance, causing her to tremble where she stood as the figure made a gesture, signaling an orc to move from his place.

With some grumbling curses, the beast cut the bonds at her ankles and wrists, uncaring whether he nicked her flesh or not and so leaving blood to seep from the small wounds. Confused and frightened, Adûnaphel held her wrists and looked back to the messenger who had ordered her slight freedom. She staggered back and tripped on her numbed feet when the figure brought a small dagger gleaming towards her. His murky laugh echoed before he knelt and turned the handle of the weapon to her, offering it instead of threatening with it. “Come now, if I’d wanted to harm thee, those bonds would still be secure.”

Trembling now, Adûnaphel glanced to Thorin before reaching out and quickly taking the dagger in her grasp, ready to defend herself if need be. Clambering slowly back to stand, she looked between the two enemies before her and glanced around the dark chambers to see what other foes lay hidden on guard.

“You know what the Dark One wants of thee, child of _Númenor_ …” The messenger’s voice slithered back into her focus and the woman shook her head vehemently.

“Your master will get nothing from me, I’ve told you.”

He smiled. “What a shame thou still holdst to thy pitiful resolve. Thou bringeth disgrace upon thine _lover_ by not allowing his freedom. But Master would see him disgraced further for _his_ insolence, as well…” Looking over to where Thorin was strung up just off the floor, the hooded figure turned to Adûnaphel and gestured to her weapon, commanding as he would an orc under his authority. “ _Shave_ him.”

Standing dumbly for a moment, she realized the gravity of what he had spoken. The beard and hair of a dwarf was of priceless personal worth, denoting nobility, wealth, and honor. Defiantly, she cast the dagger down, unflinching as it clattered loudly upon the stone. “No. I will _not_.”

“Whether by thine hand or the hand of an uruk, thy precious dwarf will wear his beard no more.” The figure informed her factually, not bothering to physically force her in his assurance that she would obey.

Tears pricked the eyes that sought her dwarf lord, finding in his expression such strength as she needed to pick up the knife and step unsteadily toward him. A shaking hand rose and reverently touched his face, stroking the dark hair that grew there unlike anything she had ever felt. “I _can’t_ , Thorin…” She whispered, shaking her head slightly to emphasize how she wished to resist.

“You _must_. And it will grow back in double time with my love for you as fuel.” He spoke so only she could hear, and gained a half of a smile for it amidst her tears. Leaning into the gentle hand that held him, Thorin awaited her first stroke with eyes closed. At her delay, however, Adûnaphel was suddenly ripped away from the dwarf and hurled off onto the floor with a cry.

“Too long!” The interfering orc growled and took Thorin roughly by the jaw, unsheathing a filthy knife to scrape dreadfully against his neck and cheek, eventually grating all the mass of dark hair from the dwarf’s head. Resisting as he had at first had gained Thorin only a severe gash to his jaw and a black eye on the same side from his irate captor. So he hung his head limply, allowing himself to be jostled and fully degraded by an unfeeling uruk who took sick pleasure in making a shoddy waste of rich black locks. During all this Adûnaphel had been—after much wrestling and shouting on her part—tied up once more in her vice of rope and tossed, weeping, on the ground just in front of Thorin so that she could watch.

“What good is a dwarf without ‘is beard, aye? Not worth a bucket o’ muck, he is.” Snarling, the orc waved his shorn hair in front of both the dwarf and his woman, pulling on her greasy mess of curls to elicit a sharp cry to his sick delight.

“Do not _touch_ her!” Thorin’s voice boomed and stopped the foul creature’s torment of the woman he loved. The dwarf growled viciously, made even more intimidating by the torn and bloodied visage he now presented. Casting her off, the uruk neared him again but made the mistake of getting too close, allowing Thorin to throw his weight into a head-butt that knocked his oppressor unconscious.

Soon another orc was running at him with a club for his insolence but was halted by the dark figure from before. “Hold thyself, _yrch_. He’ll be needed by our Master, yet.” His command was grudgingly obeyed, but only in letter. Instead of having his skull bashed to pieces, Thorin had only to deal with his brain knocking against the inside of it.

When he came to, Adûnaphel had his head cradled in her lap as she very quietly hummed a sweet tune, trying to keep her tears at bay as she looked lovingly down on him. Her smile could have revealed diamonds and gems hidden in the cell with them, he was sure of it, for how bright and warm it was when his eyes finally opened and focused upon her face. “ _Thorin_. Oh Thorin, I have no way to heal you, but please tell me if you’re hurt elsewhere.”

He smiled wearily, but closed his eyes at the pain in his head again. Her beautiful words were muffled in his ears by the concussion he’d been dealt. “Just a bump on the head, my love. I’ll survive it, I promise you.” Reassuring her, Thorin winced as he nestled closer against her warmth, pulling the gash on his face as he moved. “They’ve put us in the same cell at last? We ought to count our blessings.” She smiled as he did at the minute victory. What little contact they could have, even without use of their hands and arms, was precious.

“Aye, my lord, it is a blessing to hold you where before ‘twas impossible.” He could sense her gaze shift to his baldness, the grotesque shaving he’d endured. “Thorin… I’m so sorry.”

“It was not your doing, my love. And even had it been by your hand, I would have forgiven you a thousand times. You could never willingly hurt anyone.” At his reassurances the woman’s eyes spilled their contents silently as shook her head in agreement, bending nearly in half to lay her cheek against his forehead.


	3. Chapter Three

It was a few days later that Adûnaphel was torn from Thorin’s side and brought further into the torchlight before their cell, the shadowed figure leering closely to demand what his Master sought from her. Thorin pressed up against the bars of his prison and shouted threats to their captors should they harm her. His eyes met Adûnaphel’s as her bones snapped, and he knew instantly he would have to make good on those threats.

As his lover lay crumpled sobbing with a broken arm and leg, Thorin was dragged from his imprisonment to presumably join her misery. With hatred boiling over in his chest, the dwarf waited for his moment in trembling anticipation, ready to seize it as soon as fate allowed. The dark servant slithered toward him, speaking words in his condescending gravel that Thorin no longer heard for the raging blood in his ears: “ _They hurt her_.”

The orc holding him from behind had a dagger in his belts and the warrior took hold of it before backward smashing the creature head to head and quickly cutting his wrist bonds. Crying out in rage, Thorin hurled himself at the retreating hood who soon had the knife imbedded in his throat and choked on his death. A half a dozen uruk-hai charged him and had little chance now that the dwarf’s vengeful blood lust had culminated to this moment. One fiend grabbed the woman’s mangled arm and dragged her screaming out into the hall before the fearsome thrall could finish his attackers. “ _Thorin_!”

At the shriek of his name, Thorin split the last foe’s body in two with his stolen sword and fled after her, finding his beloved at the end of another jagged sword. They stood a half a moment waiting for action before the dwarf took the same dagger that freed him and threw it straight to the monster’s head. Quickly gathering Adûnaphel into his arms, she clung to him as best she could in her pain and buried her face in his neck. “There are a hundred _yrch_ between us and escape, Thorin, what can we do?”

“Close your eyes and trust. I know the way out.” Calmer now that he had her in his grasp, Thorin made his way quietly with sword in hand out the path they had traveled when brought to the dungeons. Sounds filtered in of other thralls screaming in pain, weeping, and calling out desperately to the couple as they saw them pass by. They hid in alcoves and open doorways when a guard or gang of yrch came through, holding their breath and praying for protection out of this pit.

Adûnaphel could feel her warrior’s ragged breath, the quiver in his limbs as he carried her up stairs, and she held to his shoulders as closely as she could. “I love you, Thorin. If we can’t get out, if we die… I love you.” She whispered through tears with her hollowed cheek pressed to his scarred face and felt him kiss that cheek.

“And I you, my Adûnaphel. We will see the daylight together, I promise you.” It was a day of hiding, waiting, and killing the few that smelled them out before Thorin found the breath of air not rank with blood and filth. It was a window, only. The dwarf sought hard to quell his cry of frustration and carefully set his beloved in a safe corner out of sight so he could look through the opening covered in heaps of black rag. The moon was a thin sliver when he looked out to the sky, clouds hung in sporadic patterns over the stars and he could only just make out the distance of a dangerously long fall to the ground.

“Can we make it down? How far is it?” Quietly she inquired from her spot in the dark room and heard the sound of her lover’s heavy sigh.

“The Dark One knows well not to put a low-lying opening in a well-built tower.”

“Have you strength enough to climb down?” He came to her side and collapsed in a seating position as she spoke, simply shaking his head.

“Not enough to carry you, also, my love. You weigh but a dove’s wing, but I cannot safely bring us both down the wall.” The resignation in his voice began to deflate her hope of escaping and Adûnaphel brought her hale arm up to softly touch his beaten face and turn it to hers.

“Rest here with me awhile. Just rest, and we will see what can be done.” She spoke through brimming tears and Thorin’s heart clenched to see it. Nodding slowly, he leaned in and brought his lips to hers in apology.

They awoke to a breeze cooling their skin and the sound of a sparrow at the window, calling them to rouse. Thorin went again to the window and saw heavy clouds and fog had moved in the night to cover what eyes could normally see. Taking a deep breath with an oath within himself, the dwarf moved to the still sleeping woman and touched her face until she opened bright eyes to meet his with a slight smile through her wounds. He knelt and kissed her long and firm, tasting the lips he purposed to belong only to him with hope in the future. “Put your arm around my neck, and hook your leg over my hip. We are leaving this place forever, _uzlam sanzhin.”_

A hopeful smile brightened her countenance and, working through evident pain, his beloved did as he instructed so that he could carry her on his back. Their first steps out from the window ledge were wary until Thorin found sufficient footing and began the long climb down to earth. His arms shook with strain as they began to hear the close movement of sentries and campfires below, but still out of sight because of fog and cloud. Feeling around the stones he held to, Thorin grasped one until it loosed and hurled it far off from where they had come close to ground. Orc growls and huffs made inquiry to the noise of the stone’s landing and drew their attention and vigil away to find its source, clearing the way of immediate danger as Thorin’s feet at last touched dirt.

He set Adûnaphel on the ground for a moment and secured his dagger once more before the sound of a growl brought his gaze up suddenly to see an uruk walking slowly toward them without seeing their outlines yet in the mist. Silently, Thorin footed up to the beast and quickly took him by the jaw to snap his neck in a move. Breathless, he rifled through the creature’s belongings and found another crooked knife before hurrying back to the wounded woman. “Take this, here.” He whispered as he put the blade in her grasp and gathered her into his weakening hold once more, making their way cautiously to the forest line he remembered was just a ways off.

The woman clung to him and wept with her broken bones as Thorin jogged out of sight of the horrible dungeons of Dol Guldur, both panting in exhaustion and pain. He stumbled once to his knees, barely able to get back up again before he tripped again and collapsed, too weak to make any more ground but to set Adûnaphel against a tree. “Are we safe?” She reached out with her good hand and held his arm, massaging it affectionately.

His larger, calloused hand wrapped around hers and pulled it to cover his heaving chest. “I think so.” After a few moments Thorin slowly started to remove his tunic, unintentionally revealing the scars and beatings he’d sustained over the months, and used the knife to tear it into strips. “We need to set those bones.” Receiving her stiff nod in compliance, the dwarf took her forearm in his grasp and quickly set the break back in place, wrapping it tightly and putting it in a sling against her breast. “Forgive me, my love.” He spoke softly as he kissed the hand of her injured arm and moved to hold the leg that lay in an awkward position.

“It has to be done.” Her words were overwrought as he prepared the larger bone to be set, and she fisted her hand in the dirt and leaves at her side when it was pushed back to rights.

“There, there it is over with. You need rest as well as I. Try to sleep, Adûnaphel.” When he had done binding the leg, her warrior moved so that his shoulder acted as pillow and his arm a blanket. They were blessed that the rest of the day held as many clouds as in the morning, and their cover was far and deep enough in the wood to hide them sufficiently. Thorin knew no way out or back to the Road from which he’d strayed, but found other things to focus on at the moment and did not think of anything beyond the very present or the far future, both of which included the beautiful woman in his arms.


	4. Chapter Four

“ _Adûnaphel_?” A strange voice woke the two from their light slumber and Thorin was quick to pull out the gnarled dagger and jump up to come between the on comer and his beloved.

“Who’s there? What do you want?” The dwarf, though hardly recognizable as one now for all he’d endured, stood firm and made what appeared to be three or for persons back up half a step, and cause two of them to knock their arrows at the ready.

“The woman who lies there is my _kin_. How is it you are here, and who are you?” The one closest, a young man with long hair woven as for nobility with strands of silver and a bow in his hand, addressed him tightly, untrusting of this obviously grizzled ‘protector.’

“ _Kin_? _Who_ are you? Adûnaphel, do you know this man?” Thorin asked her without turning away from the newcomers or letting his guard down.

Still drowsy, and stiff with pain she could not heal or soothe, the maiden peered around him slowly and squinted in the darkened forest light. “Legolas… No, it cannot be.” The named fellow took a few anxious steps toward her but was blocked by the dwarf and his lone weapon. Calmly, Adûnaphel touched the warrior’s ankle and told him. “Thorin, they are no threat to me. These elves are the same I was traveling to when I was captured.”

“We have searched for you so long, our father believes you had faded.” Brushing past the wounded ‘guard,’ Legolas knelt at his sister’s side and took her hand in his to press to his heart.

“I all but did, my brother. If it weren’t for _Thorin_ , whom I now love, I would be alone and broken still within Dol Guldur’s dungeons.” Her bright eyes lifted to where the dwarf stood with a scrutinizing gaze that softened when turned to her.

“ _Thorin_? It is this name that many of my father’s prisoners have sworn allegiance to in their folly of trespass. You are a _dwarrow._ ” The young elf rose to his full height and grew threatening in his accusing tone. He glanced to the other armed elves with him. “Take the dwarf and bind his hands. He will be brought to the king.” The cursory look the prince spared him was disgusted, and yet more because of his gruesome shaving.

“Legolas, what are you doing? Stop! He has done nothing.” Adûnaphel protested weakly from where she lay unable to move, watching helplessly as the others approached and Thorin stood at the ready to attack with what he had. “Thorin, do not hurt them, please!”

“He is the leader of a gang of dwarves that has repeatedly ambushed our people and sought harm before coming into our realm. They will not reveal their purpose, though it be foul, and continue to lie to our father.” As the prince spoke, his men came to Thorin and made quick work of the thrall, though he landed a few punches between blows to his own head and abdomen. The dwarf collapsed, beaten on the forest floor and was turned over so that his arms could be bound tightly behind him.

“He saved my life! We _love_ each other, Legolas. What have you done to him?” Tears came forth from her eyes as she watched them haul the injured warrior to unsteady feet and await further instruction, Thorin’s blackened gaze turned with longing to her.

“He has manipulated you and ‘rescued’ you for his own gain, Adûnaphel. You have been tricked into loving him, if indeed you truly do.” Ordering those with the dwarf in hand to move on back toward the palace, the others remained and made a stretcher for his sister to bring back at a slower pace. Thorin’s feet dragged so that he had to be half-carried in order to move with any speed and he struggled against his new captors until he twisted enough to look back at her, finding her eyes fixed on him desperately.

 

The next thing he knew was being cast down onto a vast stone floor, intricate with precious stones mingled throughout to create a beautiful design. His arms numb with being bound, it took a moment to shift into a proper kneeling position, unable even to stand no matter how his pride willed him to do so.

When his bearings had been gathered it was the throne room of the Elvenking’s hall in which he knelt; beaten, starved, and shaved with shame before an ancestors-long enemy. Through vague answer and in-answers, Thorin learned that all of his dwarves were indeed in the prisons but no mention of the halfling burglar, and so he did not mention the lad, either. At length nothing could apparently be gained but the elf’s further irritation at the ‘lesser creature,’ and so Thorin was again hauled away, barely able to support himself.

They passed through a hall of cells with his company separated in each of them by bars for doors, all calling out to him in surprise, relief, and shock at his appearance. “I’m well enough to get us out of here. Say nothing and do nothing until I can make a plan.” He spoke to them with a solid voice in Khuzdul so that the guards couldn’t understand, and was quickly dragged off to a dungeon cell separated from the rest. Thorin was almost thankful not to be in the midst of his men. Not only had he been stripped of physical worth and energy, but the chasm in his chest seemed to deepen more painful the longer he was apart from Adûnaphel.

For weeks they remained thus, interrupted only by further audiences and interrogations with the king Thranduil that resulted in nothing but angered curses and non-committal answers. No sign of Adûnaphel. Thorin found himself reinforcing her memory by going over every detail again and again, imagining her fully hale and dressed in elegant robes and jewels of dwarven make. The slightly pointed ears, shaped as gently as a dogwood leaf, perched just above rosined cheeks and fair skin, all framed by long, blonde curls that bounced relaxed against her shoulders. He found himself smirking slightly at the thought of how curious she was of his beard, how she delighted in touching it with her cheeks and lips, wishing aloud that she could put her fingers in it and his long hair, also. Thorin fell asleep to such thoughts and awoke to dreams of living under the Lonely Mountain with Adûnaphel as his queen.

It was late in the evening when Thorin heard a rare argument spoken hastily in elvish. One voice was a guard that often brought their food, upon which he was finally regaining the physique of a warrior dwarf, but the other voice was soft and firm at intervals, at length recognizing it to be a woman’s. It was several minutes before the sounds of slow steps made their way toward his cell, accompanied by the quieted murmurs and whispers of his men as the individuals passed them by. Thorin flew to the bars of his prison and clutched them tight when around the corner appeared his beloved, leaning heavily to walk with the guard’s assistance. Their eyes met in a flood of relief and strained joy, but neither spoke until Adûnaphel quietly dismissed the sentry elf and waited until he had gone off to his post.

“Forgive me, I begged to be taken to you as soon as I arrived but was forbidden. You see I still have need of help to walk on my own.” She rushed the whispered apologies and explanations as their hands met between the bars, Thorin grasping and pressing fervent kisses to the feminine fingers that could be spared from her arm sling. “I have wept every night for want of you. I have grown so accustomed to having you near me in sleep.”

“I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, my thoughts have been of nothing but you at my side.” Reaching through the bars Thorin touched her face, fuller and softer than it had been in the pit of Dol Guldur, and smiled at the beauty that now blossomed for having health restored. “I love you, Adûnaphel. My heart has long dwelt on the thoughts of you as my Queen under the Mountain… I ask that you would marry me and be the wife of this humbled dwarf.”

The maiden’s hand raised to brush the beginnings of a beard that now at last had started to grow at his jaw, carefully stroking the scars that still colored his strong features as their eyes met in love. “Nothing would make me whole again but to be your wife, Thorin. If your foolish heart is still in my care, then I would keep it for all eternity.” Tearfully, she laughed in quiet delight and watched the smile come to his chiseled face as well.

“Do not doubt the love I’ve given you. For though it may be a folly to others, my heart is still in your precious care, _uzlam sanzhin_.” Pleasure crinkled at his eyes as he pulled her close to him through the bars and kissed her slowly, memorizing and exploring everything about her. Without the fear of imminent torture or a hooded evil coming to bring harm, Adûnaphel pulled Thorin to her as tightly as she could, pressing her body to his through his prison and eliciting his low hum of approval. “But for these irons, I would…”

“ _Thorin_.” The maiden in his arms gasped his name as his large hand palmed up her ribcage, and she pulled on his wrist to stop the trek it was making. “I’m not your wife as yet, my king.” Flushed cheeks and a quirk of her bruised lips persuaded him to wait and he let his hands slide back to hold her gentle waist once again, smiling shamelessly.

“Say it again.” He murmured with ice blue eyes hooded handsomely.

Adûnaphel leaned close again and hovered just over his whiskered lips to breathe the words. “My _king_ …”

Thorin growled with pleasure. “My _queen_ … Come to me.” He closed the distance between them and took her lips again, drinking deeply as though she were the richest of wines.


End file.
